near them and her trill was rippling
clear and sweet. The evening air had freshened and was fragrant with
hillside scents. When Marco first rolled over and opened his eyes, he
thought the most delicious thing on earth was to waken from sleep on a
hillside at evening and hear a bird singing. It seemed to make
exquisitely real to him the fact that he was in Samavia--that the Lamp
was lighted and his work was nearly done. The Rat awakened when he
did, and for a few minutes both lay on their backs without speaking.
At last Marco said, "The stars are coming out. We can begin to climb,
Aide-de-camp."

Then they both got up and looked at each other.

"The last one!" The Rat said. "To-morrow we shall be on our way back
to London--Number 7 Philibert Place. After all the places we've been
to--what will it look like?"

"It will be like wakening out of a dream," said Marco. "It's not
beautiful--Philibert Place. But HE will be there," And it was as if a
light lighted itself in his face and shone through the very darkness of
it.

And The Rat's face lighted in almost exactly the same way. And he
pulled off his cap and stood bare-headed. "We've obeyed orders," he
said. "We've not forgotten one. No one has noticed us, no one has
thought of us. We've blown through the countries as if we had been
grains of dust."

Marco's head was bared, too, and his face was still shining. "God be
thanked!" he said. "Let us begin to climb."

They pushed their way through the ferns and wandered in and out through
trees until they found the little path. The hill was thickly clothed
with forest and the little path was sometimes dark and steep; but they
knew that, if they followed it, they would at last come out to a place
where there were scarcely any trees at all, and on a crag they would
find the tiny church waiting for them. The priest might not be there.
They might have to wait for him, but he would be sure to come back for
morning Mass and for vespers, wheresoever he wandered between times.

There were many stars in the sky when at last a turn of the path
showed them the church above them. It was little and built of rough
stone. It looked as if the priest himself and his scattered flock
might have broken and carried or rolled bits of the hill to put it
together. It had the small, round, mosque-like summit the Turks had
brought into Europe in centuries past. It was so tiny that it would
hold but a very small congregation-